On Monday, YaYa had his counseling (intake) appointment at the local hospice. His visit allows him to attend the support groups. YaYa’s appointment was different from BoBo and mine. He got to do an art project.
He was given a mask with instructions on how to paint it. Put the emotions that you show the world on the outside and those that you keep private on the inside. YaYa didn’t quite understand what she was explaining. He had his own idea. He painted his Dad.
Meanwhile, I sat there watching and wishing that I could paint one of my own. If I did, perhaps I could wear it on those days when I am just not up to the effort of trying to achieve “presentable.”
We all wear masks of sorts. I find that it helps me to do my hair and put on make up. A little blush and eye make up brightens up my face and thus brightens up my day. Using the flat iron to flatten out the frizz, as well as the bump that my ponytail holder makes, does wonders on my outlook on life. In a way, it is like the mask that I wear to hide my feelings from myself.
As for the mask that I wear for others, I did a far better job and putting up a positive front in the first couple of months after Tom’s death. I don’t know who I was trying to convince more, them or myself, that I was okay. Now a days, when it seems that everyone has forgotten that I am grieving (or assumes that I should be over it), I wear my sadness right out in the open.
But it is no use. No matter what mask I wear, the expectations to come to work everyday, work hard to contribute to the corporate goals, and thus earn the right to retain my job remains. I find that I have to bring my laptop home with me to complete the work when it is expected. This is not because I am lagging behind; it is because the timelines are impossible.
Hum? Do you think that they can see through my mask? Perhaps an invisibility cloak would be better.